


Bang Bang

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Perceptor as Goals, blaze it with the wreckers to get a sniper boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 11:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16681129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: And if your body matches what your eyes can do-You’ll prob’ly move right through me on my way to you.





	Bang Bang

The change was… not quite subtle, but not so severe that it was easy to notice.

Confidence is a slowly creeping vine, intent on strangling every new shoot of hesitance it spread to; but with Perceptor, this newfound confidence was laudanum.

Golden and toxic and deliciously craved by those luck enough to experience him.

And Drift had his tics and habits- masked under the line “expanding the consciousness of the self”, which sounded so much prettier than “it’s either this or I’m putting my pede through your abdomen and wearing you like a slipper.”.

And thise mind expansion was passed always to the left, and Drift laughed with the crew that Kup welcomed him into with a knowing grin… As though he could tell the swordsmech’s optics wandered incessantly to a trim waist and aristocratic hands. A smile like mercury and a rifle polished to a mirror finish.

And one day, a lab-worn hand plucked the handrolled cygarette from between Drift’s lips, and the swordsmech stared as Perceptor took a drag before exhaling blue-green smoke in whorls and spirals into the room with a smile. A low whistle sounded from Blurr when the swordsmech’s fans took that moment to whirr to life, making Drift cough awkwardly before the cygarette was offered to him once again- sweet smelling and between Perceptor’s fingers.

“This should get the tickle from your respirator’s, hm?”

Drift swallowed hard, leaned forward, and let lipplates catch the cygarette between them once again and he tried valiantly not to groan when Perceptor’s hand slid away, a servotip taking a moment to travel up and stroke along a finial and make the samurai shudder hard and nearly bite through what was between his lips.

Drift collected himself, turning sharply to watch Perceptor walk away with a sway to his step that was one part hip-gymbals in action, two parts the beckoning hand of sin itself.

“Dayum.”, mumured Blurr, nudging Drift’s frame, “Looks like Percy’s got his optic on a new snack, huh?”

Whirl cackled, “I hear that sniper’s got a heeeell of an appetite, Drift, you sure you wanna chase that piece of tail?”

Drift passed the cygarette along, stammering and stuttering before Kup leaned forward and fixed him with a stern gaze.

“Boy if you don’t git OFF yer aft and go rivet that sniper like a loose hull-plate this unit’s gon’ DISOWN ya.”

Drift finally found his voice, “Well how the hell do I KNOW that’s what he wants-”

Comms dinged.

Drift froze, his hud displaying the text comm. He put a hand over his face and exvented shakily before glaring at every single mech around him in turn.

“Comm’d ya his keycode, didn’t he?”, said Blurr with a snicker.

“…. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemechs, I believe I have a sniper seeking some. Enlightenment.”

Drift scrambled up out of his seat and bolted down the hall, followed by raucous cheering and a whoop of “GIT ‘IM BOYO!”

Drift’s hands shook as he tapped in the code to Perceptor’s hab, to find the sniper lounging on his berth reading a datapad. The coy smile still on the sniper’s faceplates, every slim line of the scientist’s frame on display, and Drift swallowed hard again.

“Do close the door, Drift.”, said Perceptor in more a purr than a statement, “I do hate interruptions.”

The door slid slowly shut as Perceptor continued.

“Now, let’s see you show me this ‘God’ you talk about so much, hm?”

The door locked with a click.


End file.
